Hail the cross. Our only hope.featured

Weeks after the world turned upside down, our little world was rocked by a seismic shift.

We had seen the diffuse spread of my cancer and hints of a particularly large tumor. Even though we were days away from knowing the source or full extent, we knew that my prognosis was likely terminal. Any medical hope would be for time, not healing.

A kind priest came to our home in those chaotic early days of the pandemic to administer the sacraments of Reconciliation, the Eucharist, and Anointing of the Sick before we went to the hospital for a full diagnosis.

As I spoke to him, I wept over the things I’d left undone. The opportunities to love I’d ignored out of laziness and selfishness. He gently responded, “All of us. Every single one of us is guilty. But his love covers all of these shortcomings. Rest at the foot of the cross and watch him love you in your suffering.”

For the past year, I have spent countless moments, hours, and days dedicated to this simple, profound practice. In the cross I have found a home for every agony. Every doubt. Every longing of my soul.

The literature lover in me has devoured the words written about those final days. In almost every account, from every mouth, I have heard the echoing voices begging Christ to choose another way to save us. To prove that God has not abandoned us when everything before our eyes says he has.

Surely the author of life could write salvation into our story without the gruesome sacrifice of his son. Why does the victory look more like a defeat?

The answer is as familiar and intuitive as the air I breathe. Present in every thread woven through the story of our creation and salvation.

It is the intimate and abundant love of the God who created us and longs for us.

Who pursues our hearts into every dark crevice and embraces every deficit of our sin. Upending societal expectations of cleanliness and holiness with his example of humility and love.

Who entered the world he made in the womb of a poor, unwed mother. Was born in a lowly stable far from home. Spent his childhood as a refugee, fleeing from those in power who sought his death. Showing us that there is no humbleness of birth or accident of circumstance where we will not find him.

Who chose his disciples and closest friends from those society rejected in every conceivable way. Friends he knew would deny and abandon him when faced with the weight of his sacrifice. Confirming that is no choice we can make that will end his intense longing for our soul.

Why should our final redemption be any different?

In the midst of intense pain, it can be difficult to see anything apart from the agony. By choosing the cross, Christ places himself directly in the center of our gaze. He allows us to fix our eyes on him and never turn away. No matter how bleak our vision. No matter how excruciating our suffering.

He walked this path before us, and there is no step we can take. No pain, humiliation, or injustice we can experience that he has not willingly and intentionally taken upon himself.

When I cry out in fear of the road ahead of me, my words form Christ’s plea in the garden. Begging for this not to be the path of my salvation. As my words echo his, I am reminded that by his cross my suffering is redeemed. That I can offer my fear as a sacrifice for those I love. Confident that he will use my offering to bring abundant grace and bear eternal fruit.

As I stumble and fall. The weight of this cross threatening to crush me. I open my eyes to his face. On the same ground. Eyes blurred by the same dust. Likewise bolstered by the most beloved friends and kind strangers who join me in lifting it again. Who wipe my face and mourn with me. Never leaving my side.

Every step of my own cross brings me closer to the foot of his.

Where I can share in the most intimate moments of Mary’s pain and find solace in her understanding of my excruciating sorrow at the prospect of being separated from my children.

Where my heart torn in grief for my husband can watch as Christ provides family to those he loves. Sustenance here and now.

Where I find true rest in the knowledge that even though the story could have been written countless other ways, he chose to remain beside me. To redeem every moment of my suffering. To never permit me to be separated from him.

Where I watch my salvation unfold.

Ave Crux. Spes Unica.